


Like tar

by NaraMerald



Series: Bangtan Sonyeodan [11]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Anger, Angst, Apathy, Guilt, negativity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaraMerald/pseuds/NaraMerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Namjoon is tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like tar

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm really pissed off and I might as well use the rage!

Namjoon is tired. 

He’s tired. 

He’s grateful for this gig, don’t get him wrong, of course he is, but just – today fucking sucks.

Yoongi, Jin and Hobi are out on some fucking food date at some bullshit noodle place and he knows he’s being unreasonable, he knows, but he just wants to grind his teeth because they’re out having fun but he has to memorise his MC script. If anyone deserves a night off, it’s Seokjin, he knows, just like he knows Yoongi works to the bone just like him. He knows Hoseok’s putting in the hours to make Bangtan popular. He knows.

But right now, he just doesn’t want to fucking hear it. 

Yes, his English is the best. But it’s not like it wins him any extra fans. Far from it- he’s held to a far higher standard than them. Taehyung’s “Hi” somehow makes her cute; her apathy towards studying new languages is apparently some kind of mysterious positive trait. And him? Well, he can fucking study for hours, days, years, and he’ll still be not cute enough, not handsome enough, not funny enough, not enough. 

Sometimes he just wants to throw in the towel- to say “FUCK IT!”. 

To scream to fans “WHAT? YOU WANNA CALL ME UGLY? LEARN SOME FUCKING KOREAN AND TRANSLATE FOR YOURSELF FROM NOW ON THEN”.

To say to Bangtan “Good luck with the English. I’m taking a fucking break.” 

He feels shitty. He feels shitty because he knows he’s not being reasonable and he loves Bangtan, he loves them. He knows that in a few days this will be a dark memory he’ll be ashamed of. But right now, he still feels angry. He wants to pick something up, something valuable, and then he wants to smash it so hard they’ll be finding pieces for weeks.

Maknae line are off swanning around, given permission to sneak into a fucking movie theatre and by Manager-nim of all people! The same Manager has covered for him before, indulged him… but now he sees this pile of unending work, this stupid script that no one else has to memorise, the tracks stretching out for production (and if he can’t meet the production timeline, they’ll be issued to someone else and FUCK that, fuck some other bastard getting their hands on his blood, sweat and fucking tears.)

He can picture his rage, like tar. Like this thick black poison building inside of him, choking him. Worse than cigarettes. He knows he has to shut it down, before it really poisons his life- before it hurts someone. But every attempt he is making to be reasonable tonight just makes him angrier. 

Why the fuck should he censor his feelings while Jin stuffs fucking noodles into her face as Jeongguk and Jimin eat some fucking popcorn? 

Every black drop sends ripples through him, rage, frustration, fatigue… He looks at his arms and is almost surprised his veins aren’t black, aren’t darkening. He’s glad there’s no portrait in front of him, because like Dorian Grey, he’s not to keen on seeing his soul right now. 

Because Seokjin spent 2 hours cleaning the today. Namjoon didn’t help. He probably made half the mess. He can’t have it both ways, and he knows it. 

Jeongguk, well, he works triple, the vocals, the dance line and his rapping. He carries his fair share, Namjoon has to say. 

Jimin… well, Namjoon can admit to himself, Jimin could stand to eat more. To take the time to enjoy his life without the stress of living as an idol. Jimin’s jawline is razor sharp now, the fans delighting over his cheekbones which can cut glass. But Namjoon knows the cost, and it’s not something he’s wished on his bandmates. It’s not something he would wish on them. 

The price of fame and fortune… 

His anger is gone. 

He can’t honestly, and reasonably be angry at his bandmates. He owes them so much. He loves them. 

But tonight, he feels too empty. Too empty to be happy. To empty to love. 

Logically, he should be positive. But he’s been hollowed out inside, like everything good has been scooped away and all he’s left with is a sort of sad, guilty husk. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, he’ll be back to normal. Now, he feels nothing. 

He looks at the MC script once more. 

Then he very deliberately puts it down, and goes to bed.


End file.
